Chapter 39 Chapter 39: Elena's Apology

Chapter 39 Chapter 39: Elena's Apology
Marcella's POV

Elena showed up three days after the panic attack, carrying pastries and guilt.

I heard her voice downstairs, talking to Rosa. Then footsteps on the stairs. A soft knock.

"Can I come in?" she called through the door.

I was sitting by the window, staring at the garden where I'd collapsed. I hadn't been back outside since.

"It's open."

Elena entered slowly, like she was approaching a wounded animal. Maybe that's what I was.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi."

She set the pastry box on the nightstand and sat in the chair across from me. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "For what I said last week. About you hiding behind your injury. It was cruel and unfair, and I've felt sick about it ever since."

"You weren't entirely wrong."

"That doesn't make it okay. You were struggling, and I made it worse." She leaned forward, her eyes pleading. "I was scared, Marcella. Seeing you so broken, so unlike yourself, it terrified me. And I lashed out instead of being supportive."

"Why were you scared?"

"Because you're the strongest person I know. And if you could break, what did that mean for the rest of us?" She wiped at her eyes. "Selfish, I know. But that's the truth."

I looked at her, this woman who'd been my best friend since university. Who'd helped me research Lorenzo when I was planning his destruction. Who'd warned me about the danger I was walking into.

"I forgive you," I said quietly. "But you need to understand something. What I'm going through, it's not something you can logic your way out of. It's not about being strong or weak. It's trauma. And trauma doesn't care how tough you are."

"I know. I've been researching PTSD since that day. Reading everything I could find." She pulled out her phone and showed me a list of bookmarked articles. "I want to help. Really help. Not just tell you to get over it."

Despite everything, I smiled. "You researched PTSD?"

"Of course I did. You're my best friend. If I'm going to support you, I need to understand what you're dealing with."

Something in my chest loosened. "Thank you. For caring enough to learn."

"Always." She hesitated. "Lorenzo told me about the panic attack. About the therapy. How's that going?"

"Hard. Dr. Fontana is good, but talking about Morocco is like reliving it. Every session leaves me wrecked for hours."

"But it's helping?"

"I think so. She taught me grounding techniques. Ways to tell my brain that I'm here, not there." I flexed my right hand, testing the movement. "And the physical therapy is working. My arm is getting stronger."

"That's amazing."

"It's slow. But it's happening."

Elena moved to sit on the arm of my chair, careful not to crowd me. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Are you angry at me? Really angry? Because if you are, I can handle it. I just need to know."

I thought about it. Was I angry? Yes. But more than that, I was hurt. Hurt that she'd seen me at my lowest and judged me for it.

"I was angry," I admitted. "But mostly I was hurt. You're supposed to be the person who gets me. Who doesn't judge. And you did both."

"I know. And I'm so sorry." She took my good hand, squeezing gently. "I promise I'll do better. I'll be better. Whatever you need, I'm here."

"I need you to be patient. To understand that some days I'm okay and some days I'm not. And that's normal for someone who was shot and almost died."

"Done. Anything else?"

"Stop treating me like I'm fragile. I might be broken in some ways, but I'm still me."

She smiled. "There's the Marcella I know. Fierce even when she's hurting."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Elena said, "So. Giovanni's trial starts in two weeks."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"The prosecutor called me yesterday. They want you to testify. About the night your family died. About Giovanni's confession in Morocco."

"I can't."

"You can. And you should. He needs to pay for what he did."

"But I'll have to see him. Face him. After everything..."

"You won't be alone. Lorenzo will be there. I'll be there. And you're stronger than you think."

I wanted to argue. Wanted to say I wasn't ready. But the truth was, I'd never be ready. Some things you just had to do scared.

"Okay," I said finally. "I'll testify."

"Good. Because that bastard deserves to rot in prison for what he did to you and your family."

\---

We spent the rest of the afternoon talking. Not about trauma or therapy or the trial. Just normal things. School. A guy she'd been seeing. Gossip about mutual friends.

It felt good. Normal. Like maybe I could have pieces of my old life back, even if I'd never be entirely the same person.

Rosa brought tea and we ate the pastries Elena had brought. Lemon tarts, my favorite.

"These are amazing," I said through a mouthful of pastry.

"I know. I went to three bakeries to find the good ones." Elena grinned. "Figured I owed you the best apology pastries money could buy."

"You're forgiven. The pastries sealed the deal."

She laughed, and I laughed with her. Real laughter, not the hollow kind I'd been managing lately.

When Lorenzo appeared in the doorway an hour later, he stopped and stared.

"What?" I asked.

"You're laughing."

"Is that weird?"

"No. It's good. Really good." He smiled, and the relief in his expression made my chest ache. He'd been so worried about me. Carrying the weight of my recovery on top of everything else.

"Join us," Elena said, patting the sofa. "We're eating feelings and talking about nothing important."

"Sounds perfect."

He sat beside me, his hand finding mine naturally. Elena watched us with a knowing smile.

"You two are disgustingly in love," she said.

"Yes," Lorenzo agreed, kissing my temple. "We are."

I leaned into him, feeling safe and grounded for the first time in days.

Maybe I wasn't okay yet. Maybe I wouldn't be okay for a long time.

But I had people who loved me. People who were willing to sit with me in the hard moments and celebrate the small victories.

That was enough.

For now, that was enough.

\---

After Elena left, I stayed curled up next to Lorenzo on the sofa.

"She told me about the trial," I said quietly.

"I know. The prosecutor called me too."

"I don't know if I can do it. Face Giovanni again."

"You can. Because you're not the same person who killed him in Morocco. You're stronger now. And you won't be alone."

"Will you come with me? To the courthouse?"

"Every day. I'll sit right behind you so you can see me if you need to."

I turned to look at him. "Thank you. For everything. For being patient while I fall apart and slowly put myself back together."

"You don't have to thank me. This is what marriage is. Being there for each other when things are hard."

"Even when one person is a mess?"

"Especially then." He kissed me softly. "We're in this together. Always."

I believed him.

And for the first time since Morocco, I felt like maybe we'd actually be okay.

Not today. Not tomorrow.

But eventually.

We'd be okay.